I just got back from spending four days wandering the hills of Madison County (Booger County according to the internet). While there, I spent a lot of time sitting on a rock with a rifle draped across my knees. This was to give any passers-by (including wildlife) the indication that I was deer hunting, when in fact, I was busy writing my next New York Times bestseller, “More Than One Way to Skin a Skunk.”
Not only do I plan to release this on Kindle, but there will also be a first-of-its-kind specially scented hard copy version available for those of you who want to experience the world’s first olfactory thriller. Just look for the black cover with a white stripe down the spine.
This week at Friday Flash Fiction, we celebrate the one year anniversary of Trixie Wisoff-Fields taking over as bus driver. She’s done a good job keeping it between the ditches and dealing with the ne’er do wells in the back of the bus. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here
Rocky loved polka. He’d seen a blonde-haired northern girl on TV with a squeeze box on her chest and immediately fell in love.
“Tennessee hill folks don’t cotton much to that racket. Getcha a mandolin and play bluegrass,” advised his Pa.
Still, Rocky couldn’t get the in-an-out image of the squeeze box out of his mind. “I’ve got to have me one of them accordions,” he declared. None being available, he attached a keyboard to an old blacksmith’s billows.
On stage, he stuck out like somebody wearing shoes at a cow patty stomping contest. But the crowd went berserk when Rocky played The Moonshine Barrel Polka.
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Flash Fiction, and Poetry
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
Confessions of a Delusional Maniac
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.